Marble and Molerats
by alicat54
Summary: Bilba Baggins is not entirely respectable, and it's not just because her grandmother taught her how to throw a battle ax. This doesn't quite change the outcome of a certain adventure, but it certainly changes her reaction to it. fem!bilbo, dwobbit Bilbo
1. Chapter 1

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Bando Stoors could have been considered an entirely respectable hobbit, if it were not for his extended houseguest. After all, a respectable inhabitant of Hobbiton would not allow a dwarf to linger upon their hospitality as this one had, no matter what the rules of politeness demanded.

Then again, Stoors was rather odd ever since that tall fellow moved in with him. He abandoned the cozy home left to him by his parents to build a smial practically at the edge of the Shire. His behavior was unheard of! Everyone knew only granite bedrock grew there; it was not a place to dig a proper hobbit hole!

Bando's later acquisition of a gold wedding band with no hobbit lass in sight cinched some people's concerns. Others who practiced the long appreciated art of 'don't ask, don't tell' merely nodded sagely.

"So that's how it is," they would mutter, before returning to their gardens or tea.

Needless to say, the appearance of a child baffled several individuals.

As it turned out dwarf women grew fine beards like men, and 'Master Kayli of the Blue Mountains' was actually 'Mistress Kayli.' The discovery eased some minds, but the scandal lasted for much longer than nine days, and most refused to believe the strange rumor until they saw it for themselves.

The Stoors family, kitchen bound hobbit father, ax wielding dwarf mother, and three hairy faced and footed sons, tended to ignore the chatter, and laugh uproariously from behind the door of their stone carved home.

Alas, the family would have continued in such bliss, were it not for the price of mortality. Hobbits, as the couple discovered, lived much shorter lifespans than dwarves. When her husband died at ninety-seven, Kayli was considered barely into the prime of her life.

Her eldest son decided he would not find his heart's desire in the Shire, and set out to find his Mother's relatives in the Blue Mountains. Rumors of a strange wandering dwarf with large hairy feet and pointed ears like an elf circulated traveler's campfires for a good while before dying out.

Her middle son, who took more after his placid father, shaved his beard (to the horror of his mother) and married an adventurous lass from Buckland. He had one daughter, named Adamanta, before retiring to a cozy dirt dug hole in Tuckenborough. There he lived happily until his wife's death, when he faded away to follow his love.

The youngest remained by his mother's side, occasionally straying to patrol with the local Bounders around the boarder, until his death. The Fell Winter was not kind, even to hardier folk of darrow stock.

The winter also took her granddaughter, Adamanta Chubb. The lass had taken her mother's maiden name for political reasons, which could be summed up as the desire to avoid scandal. Fortunately at that point the quarter dwarf had been married to one Geronitus Took for some time, and left behind no less than twelve great-great-grandchildren for Kayli to wonder at.

Not that the old dwarf was allowed anywhere near her extended family since the wedding. She had never quite been the same since the old Stoor's death. Besides, what would the neighbors say if she taught the children such un-hobbit like behavior as wielding a sword? (Not to mention the fact that all her children had died so untimely...hobbits were not an unsuspitious people.)

One, a certain Belladonna Baggins nee Took, had inherited more than her ancestor's height, and stubbornly marched to the lonely stone smial. Knocking smartly on the traditional round wooden door, she barely waited till it opened before shoving the baby balanced on her hip into the greying darrowdam's arms.

"This is your granddaughter, as am I. May we come in for tea?"

Kayli blinked bemusedly behind her bushy brows at the tiny fauntling cradled between her work beaten hands. The baby giggled and pulled at her beard. She smiled, and invited them in.

They say it was Belladonna's marriage to Bungo which curbed her wild nature, but those who knew her (including her husband) attributed the change to the birth of her daughter and her friendship with the well traveled old dwarf at the edge of civilization.

In any case, no one stopped the stubborn Took from visiting her great-grandmother twice a week, baby slung over one arm, basket on the other.

The baby was an odd little thing. Her feet were, if not entirely undersized, definitely a size or two smaller than the average hobbit. She also stood a head above her peers, and most agreed she would even outstrip her mother in height. Belladonna was already quite taller than anyone else in the Shire, save her great-grandmother.

The real scandal came when Bungo Baggins fell ill with the cough that struck so many after the Fell Winter. Belladonna, instead of doing the sensible thing of leaving her daughter with her hobbit relatives while she cared for her ailing husband, chose to leave the girl in that horrid stone house with that dwarf.

"Aren't you worried about her picking up bad habits?" the polite Shirefolk asked.

"She already forgets to wipe her feet after playing in the mud, I don't see how it could get much worse," Belladonna would reply, before continuing with her shopping.

Others, namely one Lobella Sackville-Baggins, were not so soft spoken. "That child will be running around waving about swords and bows in no time, mark my words!" she sneered. "I bet she might even start to wear shoes!"

All hobbits within hearing distance properly gasped, and one even fainted. Belladonna frowned.

"I suppose if my daughter insists on running over those jagged rocks in your walkway all the time, that might be best. Your path is not as fine as the one in Bag End. Thank you for your input," she said thoughtfully, before returning home.

Lobella fumed, and refused to invite herself for tea over her least favorite cousin's house for nearly a week.

Bilbo Chrysanthemum Baggins, called Bilba in an attempt to correct a clerical error on her birth certificate, knew nothing of the small war being waged over her upbringing.

She knew of it, much like how she knew of the funny story where daddy was so happy the day she was born that he accidentally told her name backwards to the midwife leaving her with a respectably male first name. Momma thought it funny, but daddy insisted on changing the 'o' to an 'a', lest their daughter feel less feminine due to his mistake. She knew of it, but did not particularly care to understand it.

All little Bilba knew was that when daddy started coughing, momma got that look in here eyes which meant that she was worried, and asked if her brave little girl would like to sleep over a relative's house for a few days.

That was how the lass found herself tucked into one of the granite cut guest rooms of her amadel.

Amadel was not like other hobbits, Bilba decided. For one, she asked Bilba to call her amadel instead of great-great-grandmother. No one else in the shire had a grandmother with that many greats wither. For another, she had a beard.

"I thought only men in Bree had beards," she said with a pout one day as amadel braided her wavy hair by the fire.

"They do," the old woman agreed, "but not as fine as mine or the ones your grandfather and uncles could grow."

"Will I grow one?" the lass asked, rubbing her cheeks as if tiny golden hairs were already sprouting.

Amadel laughed like and earthquake, and Bilba felt compelled to join her, despite not knowing what the joke was. "No, khajimel, I think you are too much of a proper hobbit for that."

Bilba nodded with a shrug, and tried not to feel disappointed as great-grandmother continued to braid. That was another odd thing about amadel, she loved to braid Bilba's hair.

"Golden like your mother's," she would croon, "but thick like mine. You are blessed to be able to weave so much into your braids."

She also knew practically everything, especially about braids. Bilba never knew that braids could mean so many different things, ranging from 'I'm a warrior and brave' to 'I'm in love, please notice me.'

"So braids are like flowers," the hobbit girl said one day as epiphany struck her.

Amadel blinked at her. "How so, khajimel?"

Instead of answering, Bilba raced into a field overflowing with spring flowers and gathered up a bouquet to show off.

"See?" the lass grinned, as her amadel delicately held the plants. "The yellow ones mean happiness, and the red ones mean love!"

"Ah," said amadel. "And which ones are the red ones?"

"The tulips?" Bilba pointed out. Amadel plucked at a daffodil uncertainly. Bilba furrowed her brow. "I thought every hobbit knew about flowers."

"Well," said amadel, gently setting down the bouquet, "I am not a hobbit. I am a dwarf."

"Oh," said Bilba, who absorbed the information like any other child with blank acceptance.

Dwarves did not see the same way hobbits did, amadel explained. Color, as described to her by her husband, did not have a direct translation in Khuzdul, the language of dwarfs. The closest they had was urjukhudh, luster, or, literally, that which is seen when light flows.

"We don't need to see color underground," amadel said. "Metal and stones can be found by their urjukhudh, even in the dimmest light. If one has a good stone sense, even that is not needed."

"What's stone sense?"

The darrowdam looked thoughtful. "Hm, I'll tell you if you promise to keep it a secret."

Bilba nodded vigorously, excitement flowing off her in waves.

So Kayli explained about Mahal's gift to his children, and the secret rivers of raw gem studded metal and starlight mithril flowing through the earth.

"I could smell out even the deepest veins, when I was a lass. They called me Orefinder, until I settled here," she sighed. "I still sometimes find a small catch here and there in the Shire to keep my trade sharp, but it is of no matter."

"That's like how mommy can always find her sword!" Her granddaughter looked star struck. "I want to do that!" she squeaked. "Please amadel, will you teach me? Then I'll go have real treasure hunts, without a map or anything!"

"Oh?"

The tiny girl nodded, her braids bouncing. "I'll find the biggest hoard ever, and slay the monsters guarding it to hang their pelts like rainbow banners in my hall!"

"Big words for such a small hobbit! Your grandfather once mentioned that, in the dark, colors are somewhat difficult to see, so perhaps you might wish to hang them elsewhere," the dwarf said, trying to dissuade her granddaughter's enthusiasm. It would be cruel to tell her the skill was not one a person could learn.

The hobbit switched tracks easily, forgetting her oaths to discover hidden veins of treasure. "Is that why your smial is always so dark?"

The old woman looked about the cold stone room lit by a single candle just visible in the hall. The flame refracted in her worn eyes like a cat's might. "To me there is light enough. I forget you are not the same, my khajimel."

"It's all right," Bilba chirped, giving the tall figure a hug. "I keep extra candles in my pocket when I go exploring!"

For there was much to explore in the smial, which was so unlike any other home Bilba had ever been in. It was not just because the ceilings were higher than Bilba could see in some places, nor was it because the hole was dug from living granite instead of soft dirt lined with wood. No, what attracted little Bilba to explore each forgotten corner of her grandmother's house was the sheer grandeur of the architecture. Every pillar and doorway was deliberately carved and constructed with care born of ancient tradition. Only the kitchen felt properly hobbit-ish, and Bilba was certain that was because amadel made it that way for her great-great-grandfather.

The great halls echoed like thundering horses when Bilba ran down them, trailing a stick behind her. She could always hear amadel walking, no matter how far away she was. The girl often used this skill to creep out from behind corners and tackle the old darrow with a hug.

"You must have inherited my hearing, my little quiet thief," she said teasingly when Bilba announced this skill. "We darrow can hear a man speaking from a whole mountain range away, if the tunnels are constructed correctly. 'Tis why our folk love singing; it helps to carry our voices."

"Could you teach me?" the hobbit lass begged.

Amadel looked at her appraisingly. "You are part darrow. I think it is not forbidden."

She taught Bilba lyrics to chant and words to speak, till the little girl practically refused to talk in anything save the secret language of her great-grandmother. The child thought it a fine trick to speak perfectly polite sentences to the other hobbit children who thought her too odd to play with, and have them run weeping to their mothers, sure she had cursed them.

The ones who did allow her to join their games, usually her Took cousins, found themselves falling into step behind her battle cry as they raided farmer Maggot's mushroom stores.

"Baruk Khazad!" she shouted, waving about her tiny wooden sword as her troops scattered when faced with the guard dog. "We shall not lose this battle today!" The little boys roused themselves to her cry, and managed to sneak a few extra ears of corn while their fearless leader held off the beast.

They, at least, managed to get away.

Later, after a stern lecture from the Sheriff of Hobbiton and a tearful apology never to steal again, Kayli held her granddaughter in her lap by the fire and stroked her hair as she wept.

"I wouldn't have gotten caught if Fortinbras just listened to me and didn't run off," she seethed, eyes burning with tearful fury.

Amadel chuckled. "One must be able to trust ones troops when waging war. To be picked for such a guard is a great honor among darrows."

Bilba looked seriously into her amadel's face. "Will I ever be picked to go on an adventure like that?"

The old woman smiled. "Perhaps. However you would need to gain more skill with your sword."

The next day found Bilba slashing at weeds in the back garden with her brand new dagger, which given her size might as well have been a hefty blade.

Life could not have been better for little Bilba Baggins.

Then her mother unexpectedly visited.

When Bilba first began her stay with her grandmother, Belladonna would go to the granite smial every other day and twice on weekends for lunch and to hear her daughter's latest adventures. However, Bungo's health had taken a turn for the worst, and the mother was separated from her child for an uncomfortable amount of time.

His health had not improved with time.

He passed before winter set in heavily.

The hobbits cried together in the relative privacy of Kayli's living room, before the old dwarf returned baring a tray of tea things.

Bilba pressed against her mother as the adults spoke about things she didn't really understand, but knew was important. Her hands twined into the soft cloth of her mother's blouse, so different from amadal's coarse furs.

"Dwarves love only once," the older woman said soothingly. "Some say it is due to our stubbornness and not knowing when to quit. I tend to agree."

Belladonna laughed brokenly. "When that happens to hobbits, we consider it a mixed blessing. There are stories of widows and widowers simply fading away soon after..." Her breath caught.

A new wave of tears washed her cheeks. "Great-grandmother, I feel as though my heart has left my breast."

The old woman laid a hand across her palm, eyes understanding. "I know."

Bilba is taken back to live at Bag End with her mother, though with how much they visit the granite smial it is almost like she never left.

Everyone always said that Bilba took after her mother in everything from temperament to looks, but there was still enough of her father in her to prompt a smile from Belladonna. Bilba set aside her sword in favor of tending to her father's books and hoped the similarities would be enough to keep her mother with her.

They weren't.

The eave of her coming of age birthday found Bilba curled in her mother's armchair, eyes vacant. When well wishers knocked on the door, she did not find the energy to answer.

She probably would have stayed that way past sunset, if not for the stubbornness of dwarves who ignore closed doors.

"Amadel," she said, surprise breaking through her numb heart. She had never seen the dwarf outside of her own home. To have walked this far in her old age must have been a trial.

Remembering her manners, Bilba wiped her face clean of tear tracks and offered her grandmother a chair by the fire.

The old dwarf eased into a seat and motioned for the young adult to sit before her. Bilba did, and felt familiar fingers begin to comb through her hair.

"I will show you a new braid tonight," she rumbled. "Then I will show you how to carve a bead with which to fasten it. Hobbit names are a bit tricky to put into ruins, but I am sure the Valar won't mind using westron in this case to write your parent's names."

She tugged at the plait going behind Bilba's pointed ear. "When you have no more tears to cry and your mourning time is done, only then may you clip the braid from your hair."

"But amadel," she whispered hoarsely. "I thought dwarves did not cut their hair."

Two strong arms held her comfortingly. "In times of sorrow we may."

The bead is cut from polished oak, which once was apart of her father's old broken pipe. Bilba wore the ornament boldly at her left temple, heedless of the whispers from her fellow hobbits at her exotic hair style.

Eventually, when tears no longer prick her heart when the bead catches her eye and the pain in her mind loses its bite (but is never, never gone) she takes up her mother's sewing scissors and tucks the braid in her father's old tobacco box. She buries her sorrows in the back garden under a carnation plant.

When suitors begin knocking at her door in an attempt to comfort the poor disheartened rich lone daughter to the fortune of Bag End, Kayli rouses herself one last time from her granite home to teach Bilba one more type of braid.

These thick braids tuck behind both ears and are held with two heavy silver clasps.

"Perseverance, cleverness, loyalty, and light-footedness." Amadel read the ruins carved onto the matching ornaments's side. "I forged them for your coming of age day, but I believe you most need them now."

Bilba fingered her hair, not mentioning that by hobbit standards, she was already well into adulthood, despite looking barely out of her tweens. She memorized the braided pattern to practice later. "What do they mean?"

"They mark you as queen of your domain," the old dwarf chuckled. "A queen does not need a beardless little boy to rule, and neither do you. You are regal and strong, and shall not marry unless you yourself wish it!"

The young woman straightened her spine confidently. "That's right!"

The next unwelcome guest trying to invite themselves over for tea were politely asked to leave. If they refused (or had a name rhyming with Lobella) they were asked again at sword point, with a very sharp smile that glinted like the beads in her hair.

The days spent with her father's books and mother's tenacity, compounded by her own cleverness, allowed Bilba to shrewdly mediate her own business disagreements allowing her to support herself with a sizely income. Were she a man, such activities would not be nearly as frowned upon, but anyone who made the mistake of underestimating her because she was a woman inevitably regretted it later.

Thus time passed in relative peace and contentment for the infamous Mistress of Bag End.

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A/N: will update once a week till what I have written of the story is done.

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Dwarvish translations

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amadel - mother of all mothers. Closest word I could find to grandmother.

khajimel- gift of all gifts. I use it as an endearment, like when people say a child is a 'gift from above.'

urjukhudh - color. Here I'm using it to mean something like luster.

...x

Elvish Translations

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kalina - light

taurn - high

n'taurn - low

taurn kalina - high light, aka: ultraviolet, ect. I made up this concept based on science.

n'taurn kalina - low light, aka: red light spectrum, radio waves, ect. I made up this concept based on science.


	2. Chapter 2

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One quiet morning a letter came.

Bilba sat on her porch for a long while, just staring at the words. No one came to comfort her.

Eventually she went inside and put into her hair a braid she had only used once before, tucked close to her left temple. The bead adoring it was carved from red granite.

She spoke with her gardner the next day.

"Master Gamgee, I'm afraid I must vacate Bag End for the foreseeable future. Would you be so good as to look after the flowers and air out the rooms while I am away?"

"Of course Miss Bilba," the curly haired hobbit nodded. "Might I ask where you're going, if it's not too much trouble?"

She smiled in a way that made her heart want to break. "I must settle the affairs of my late great-great-grandmother."

"The dwarf?" he yelped in surprise, and immediately felt foolish when Bilba looked at him.

"Yes. She was nearly three hundred, quite ancient for a dwarf."

"I just never thought she would go," he tried to amend.

If anything her smile grew even sadder. "Neither did I." She visibly gathered herself. "I've left a letter with the bank for your wages. Please look after my property until I return."

With a quick curtsy she scurried back into her smial.

The granite house was just as Bilba remembered, save for the fact that it was no longer a home. She kept her mind off the silent halls by sorting through her great-grandmothers rooms full of manthoms.

Shelves and shelves of rocks, some carved, some left in their natural shape, filled the back rooms. A few chests were found to contain some gems which Bilba could have mistook for glass they were so flawless.

The girl couldn't find the heart to throw her amadel's collection away, so she piled the larger stones in the sitting room where they would catch the light. She sent the smaller ones by the barrel load back to Bag End where they could be sorted when she was in a better state of mind.

Most of the furniture and trappings had already been moved out of the side rooms. Only the kitchen and guest room remained lived in, along with a couch in the front room. Bilba only managed to open Kayli's bedroom door once, before deciding she needed to take a break.

Thus, dusty and gritty, Bilba ceased her cleaning and slumped on the front bench, exhausted.

That was where Gandalf the Grey found her.

Bilba was not in the mood.

After a cryptic conversation in which Bilba pointedly did not invite the wizard in for tea, the hobbit decided to take stock of the pantry. Just when she had dragged the last bag of potatoes into the kitchen proper and set a pot of stew to boil, she heard a knock at the door.

Curious as to who would be knocking at this particular smial at this hour, Bilba dusted off her hands to answer it.

Her heart jumped when she saw the imposing figure on her doorstep. Bilba was considered quite tall for a hobbit, and had been able to meet her amadel's eyes easily when fully grown. Looking at the dwarf staring gruffly at her, Bilba felt small for the first time in a long while.

His gaze swept over the thick braids descending behind her ears and the smaller beaded one by her temple. Bilba pointedly did not move to straighten her hair. The dwarf bowed respectfully.

"Dwalin at your service."

Now what did amadel say about dwarvish manners?

Bilba bent smartly at the waist, glad she was wearing pants and a high buttoning shirt. "Bilba Baggins, at yours and your family's."

"Uh." She fumbled for a moment, before recalling how impolite it was to ask about a dwarf's business without first sharing a meal, especially so if travel had been involved to get to the meeting place. Travel had definitely been involved for this dwarf to end up on her doorstep. Perhaps he knew...had known Kayli.

"I've just started on some dinner, if you would like to join me. Unfortunately I've moved the table while emptying the larder. Would you mind eating in the sitting room?"

Dwalin grunted in what Bilba hoped was a positive acceptance as she closed the door behind him. He eyed the carved pillars holding up the hall ceiling appreciatively.

"A fine cave you have here. From where did the architect hail?"

"The Blue Mountains," she said, and tugged on her mourning braid before she could stop herself.

He nodded, as if expecting such an answer.

Bilba led him to the sitting room before returning to the kitchen. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend the echoing steps belonged to someone else.

Another knock on the door sounded, revealing a white haired dwarf named Balin. She left him in the sitting room with Dwalin, who had abandoned his examination of the gem pile to greet the newest guest with a knocking of heads.

They must be either close friends or brothers of some sort, Bilba thought, before another knock drew her from the kitchen.

Around this time Bilba began to suspect that the dwarfs invading her house were not old friends of her amadel, for the two faces grinning at her were much too young to have known Kayli before she came to the Shire.

"Filli," said the blonde.

"And Killi," the brunette added, before they finished together with an "At your service!" and well coordinated bow.

"You might as well come in," Bilba sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose to avoid the oncoming headache.

"Thanks," the youths chirped.

Filli pulled off his swords. "Is there anywhere I could put these?" he grinned politely.

Bilba's hand automatically reached towards the side closet, before memory caused her limb to falter. Fortifying herself with a breath, she tugged open the door and motioned for the blonde to deposit his weapons in the appropriate rack.

"These are some fine axes," he whistled appreciatively, eyeing the dusty items already present.

"They were my amadel's," Bilba says quietly.

Fili's face snaps to openly stare at her, his eyes searching her person for something. He sees her braids, and bows much more formally than he did at the door.

"I grieve for your loss, my lady, and apologize for my thoughtlessness."

She nods in acceptance, and escorts him to the sitting room.

The next knock brought an avalanche of bodies and one wizard who seemed pleasantly unaware of how much trouble he was in when a certain hobbit got her hands on him. Bilba just knew this whole mess was his fault.

Fortunately (for him), said wizard managed to keep Bilba from cornering him for a talk with an expertise which was much too casual to not have been practiced.

At about this time the dwarves had found all the food laid out in the kitchen and whipped up a feast faster than you could say 'orcs'! She recognized many of the scents wafting from the stove and was forced to excuse herself while she dabbed at her eyes. Bilba made a note to ask the cook, Dori she believed, for his recipes. Amadel had never...

"Excuse me, what should I do with my plate?" one of the auburn haired dwarfs asked politely.

"Hey give it here!" another called. As if some unseen signal had been switched, all of the metal dishes began flying through the air. Suddenly, Bilba understood why her grandmother insisted on such hardy utensils.

"Just please don't blunt the knives!" she couldn't help uttering as she took shelter from the war zone her living space had become.

"Hear that, she think's we'll blunt the knives!" Fili laughed.

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks!" His brother Kili began to sing, and was soon joined by a complete chorus and flute ensemble.

The hobbit was just considering breaking out her sword, when the music ended and the final party guest arrived.

A hush fell over the assembly, ringing much louder than the singing had in Bilba's ears.

The dwarf who entered was the very definition of regal. Two long braids trailed from the crown of his head behind his ears, much like the pattern Bilba herself wore.

He eyed her up and down, clearly unimpressed.

"So this is the burglar," he drawled, the timber of his voice pitched low. His lip curled in not quite a smirk as he examined her hair. "She looks more like a grocer playing dress

up."

Icy fire filled Bilba's veins. She drew herself to a height which would have towered over any other hobbit of the Shire like a thundercloud.

"I am the granddaughter of the Thain of the Shire and the great-granddaughter of Kayli Orefinder. I will not be disrespected by you in my own home!"

Her words could have cut diamonds. So could the gaze he sent back to her.

Bending at the waist slightly, he bowed in a manner befitting someone of his station. "Forgive me, madam, I did not mean to offend. Thorin Oakenshield, at your service."

Bilba considered being rude, but knew her amadel would have scolded her. This man's braids proclaimed him to be a ruler with much more authority than her own, after all. She bowed stiffly, before ushering him into the sitting room.

The others were talking animatedly, having obviously been eavesdropping on the little exchange by the door only moments before.

Thorin glanced at the gem pile, which had somehow become scattered from the neat pyramid it once sat in (Bilba made a note to check the dwarf's pockets), before settling at the head of the long table.

Bilba then learned why so many unexpected guests filled her grandmother's house.

A quest to slay a dragon sounded quite adventurous, though the rather graphic descriptions of possible fates laid out in her contract seemed a tad excessive.

Bilba was quite happy to say that she did not faint, though her heart raced quite fast as she put down her contract and asked for a moment to think. She was fully prepared to thank the dwarves for the honor of being chosen to join them, and refuse profusely.

Then they began to sing.

The music echoed cankerously through the empty stone halls. Bilba couldn't- she couldn't-

She just couldn't.

Scurrying into the nearest empty room, the hobbit barred the door and wept.

Is this what her amadel tried to explain in her stories? This thrum of sound and echo was just as Bilba had imagined it to be as a lass, when her mind conjured great halls of ancient grandeur to fill with warriors of old. Only one person was missing, and the loss bit into her heart with the beating of the granite bead at her brow.

What a horrible host I am, she thought wiping at her eyes. Amadel would be prodding at me to join the men on their quest. She let loose a watery giggle. For her sake, Bilba would not weep.

Checking that her eyes were no longer red in the mirror, she exited the room to quietly find Balin and his horrible contract.

Much later, after the larder was emptied of all edibles and drinkables, and the dwarfs snored loudly in the still furnished guest rooms, Bilba entered her grandmother's room.

She found a pair of boots kicked under the bed which fit enough to not cause her soft (for a hobbit) feet any pain. The travel pack was tucked in the closet behind some neatly folded tunics. Bilba fit the hardiest looking set to her petite frame, and took special care to pack her sewing kit with another change of cloths. The leathers felt odd compared to her usual cotton ensemble, but did not rub uncomfortably anywhere.

She looked at herself in the mirror and felt incredibly foolish. A little grocer playing dress up indeed.

Bilba redressed herself. The thick pants and fur lined coat remained, but her shirt and other underthings held a decidedly hobbit-ish style. She still looked odd, but no more odd than she usually felt with her braided hair and sword.

Speaking of which, she rummaged around till she found a sharpening stone in the desk drawer, along with a pair of jewel studded daggers which fit nicely in her belt. Briefly she contemplated the axes stashed in the closet, but decided against bringing them. Amadel could never get her backswing up to snuff, and Bilba didn't want to embarrass herself.

The next morning had barely dawned before the party was ready to leave. Bilba carefully shut the round door behind her and laid a hand reverently against the wood.

"I'll be back soon," she murmured to the empty granite smial. If she strained her imagination she could almost hear a voice scolding her for keeping the company waiting.

Or perhaps that was just Thorin's grumbling. He apparently was not a morning person.

Tossing her braids over her shoulder, Bilba eyed her first challenge.

The pony stared back, unconcernedly chewing grass.

"Right," she breathed, and hefted her leg over the beast's side, before promptly sliding back to the earth.

This was going to be harder than she expected.

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A/N: will update once a week till what I have written of the story is done.

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Dwarvish translations

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amadel - mother of all mothers. Closest word I could find to grandmother.

khajimel- gift of all gifts. I use it as an endearment, like when people say a child is a 'gift from above.'

urjukhudh - color. Here I'm using it to mean something like luster.

...x

Elvish Translations

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kalina - light

taurn - high

n'taurn - low

taurn kalina - high light, aka: ultraviolet, ect. I made up this concept based on science.

n'taurn kalina - low light, aka: red light spectrum, radio waves, ect. I made up this concept based on science.


	3. Chapter 3

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A quick climb and a creative use of her garden fence as a footstool, Bilba managed to successfully, if not comfortably, seat herself on the back of her mount.

After a few hours of riding she felt confident enough to pull out some embroidery. She had picked up the habit from an old aunt who specialized in using gold thread. Amadel had cooed in delight when Bilba had showed off her first attempts.

"You have chosen a worthy craft, khajimel," she chuckled. "The light in your eye is the same as when I cut my first diamond. If you wish, I will teach you to make small gems to sew into your metal pictures."

Bilba's current project was a silver shroud. Hopefully amadel's ancestor's would not mind the hobbit custom of placing such items of remembrance upon grave sites. Her sorrow required more than a simple braid to ease her heart.

Thus occupied, Bilba spent the first week at the back of the company with minimal contact with the dwarves and wizard. She was content to remain to herself, and the rest respected her desire of privacy. The few times anyone did look at her and open his mouth as if to speak, the words would die in his throat when he caught sight of her mourning braids, and he would quickly turn away.

Then, quite unexpectedly, she found herself with two grinning faces on either side of her pony. Sighing, the hobbit packed away her project and eyed the boys. Some kind of mischief was a foot, but she didn't know them well enough to guess at it yet.

The boys looked physically near her age, but all of Kayli's descendants retained their youthful looks long past when a regular hobbit would have lost theirs. The two most likely were her senior in years, but Bilba was pretty sure she beat them in maturity.

"So, your grandmother was a dwarf?" Fili asked from her left as they rode.

Bilba cautiously nodded. "Yes. She came from the Blue Mountains."

"What did you say her name was?" Kili said from her right. She turned to face him, brows lowered suspiciously as she wondered what kind of trick thy were about to pull on her. Her Took cousins had similar glints in their eyes when they plotted something which could get them into trouble later.

"Kayli."

The dwarfs shared a look, before focusing on the hobbit between them.

"Did she ever mention having a brother?"

She shrugged. "Amadel never spoke much about her past, except to my great-uncle, and he rode off one day without a backwards glance. She's kept things to herself since then, I think so I wouldn't run off too."

"Did you know that darrows aren't born with second names like you hobbits?" Fili said, randomly.

"We're named with similar runes in our names," Kili chirped, before she could muster up a reply. "They're like family runes!"

"Is that why so many of the company have rhyming names?" Bilba said, interested despite herself.

The boys beamed at her. "Exactly!"

She hummed, filing the information under 'interesting but not relevant.' After all, her family went by traditional hobbit naming conventions.

The boys appeared ready to bombard her with more words, when Thorin called for the company to stop. Bilba used the distraction to guide her pony away. They seemed unwilling to approach her again with the others within earshot, so she made a point to stick close to the fire where Dori was cooking.

Then the whole debacle with the three trolls happened, and Bilba wondered if all men were so dumb as to charge a monster head on, or if it was just dwarves. Her grandmother had taught her more sense than that, so she was more inclined to believe it a failing of the opposite gender.

Her musings were cut short by a mad dash from wargs and subsequent rescue by elves.

Bilba had never given much thought to the Eldar beyond searching them out in the woods of the Shire as a child. Despite that, she stared in awe at the beautiful architecture of Rivendell, and was quite upset that the company's glorious leader had to go and insult their hosts before they had even been shown to clean lodgings.

Her displeasure with the dwarves sparked enough rebellion in her for the hobbit to take the offer of a room from the nice elf while the rest of the company slept outside.

The feather bed cinched her resolve.

Despite the infinitely inviting option of laying under the blanket for days on end, Bilba soon grew bored and indulged her desire to explore.

The gardens were exquisite, and took her breath away. She was so engrossed just gazing up, up, and up into the graceful trees and architecture, that she nearly tripped over the lone elf sitting quietly on a bench.

"I'm terribly sorry!" the hobbit stuttered, straightening her coat. "I hope I haven't disturbed you!"

The elf laughed, her voice glittering through the flora around them. "No harm has been done, little hafling."

Bilba fidgeted. "Uh, is that embroidery you're doing?"

"Yes, would you like to see?" the elf tucked away the needle before handing the rolled fabric out to her. Bilba eagerly studied the thread work, comparing it to her own with little shame.

"Is that a primrose? It looks like one, but the petal colors are all wrong," the hobbit trailed off.

"The taurn kalina lets us see the hidden flower patterns," the elf says, fingering the spiky patterns decorating the embroidered flowers.

Bilba frowned. "What does that mean?"

The elf laughed, a light tinkling giggle like silver bells. Bilba flushed, not sure whether she was being made fun of or not.

"Peace little one, I mean you no disrespect. I simply forget that the eyes of others cannot see as well as mine. I was laughing at myself." The elf visibly contained her mirth, and pointed to the patterns Bilba had not recognized.

"There is no word for taurn kalina in the common tongue, nor for n'taurn kalina. They are what we name the different pieces of light. The flower patterns are visible when taurn kalina shines brightly upon the plants. I am not the best to explain what they are." She shrugged apologetically.

"I think I understand," Bilba said, thinking of a similar conversation she had long ago concerning flowers.

She opened her mouth to ask more, but a familiar shout disrupted the peaceful surroundings.

"Hey Bilba!" Kili dashed down the walkway and seized her arm in his. With a cheeky nod to the elf, who had broken out into giggles again, he pulled her away.

"Kili!" she squeaked, as he manhandled her to a deserted hallway. "Let me go!"

Immediately her feet met the floor, and a pair of pleading blue eyes locked onto hers with disturbing accuracy. "Bilba, I need your help! Please?"

Half drowned kittens could not emulate even half the adorable pitying look on that cursed dwarf's face.

The hobbit groaned and resisted the urge to bang her head against something. "What do you want?"

Kili pulled open his coat and dug around in the inner pocket, before shoving something small and warm into her hands. Bilba squeaked again when the pink thing wriggled and blinked at the sudden change in light.

"Ah, no! Don't drop him!" Kili flinched to catch the thing, but Bilba's hands remained steady.

"Kili, what is it?" she said, trying to keep her voice quiet.

The thing mumbled in displeasure at the same time Kili pouted. "He's not an 'it', this is Rufus! He's my naked mole rat!"

"Right," Bilba prodded 'Rufus' experimentally, mindful of his sharp teeth. "Why is he here?"

"Uncle told me to leave him at home," the young dwarf looked sheepish, "but I couldn't just leave him behind! He gets lonely without me."

Bilba tried not to groan. "And I suppose you need me to look after him-"

"Until Fili can distract Uncle Thorin long enough for me to sneak him back into my pack," Kili agreed. "He eats roots and vegetables mostly."

She sighed, and reluctantly tucked the rodent into her coat. "You owe me."

Kili grinned widely and pulled her into a hug. "I knew I could count on you!"

"You are such a child," she huffed when he released her.

"You wouldn't look much older than me, even with a beard!"

Bilba rolled her eyes. All of amadel's children had looked much younger than their years would indicate, at least by hobbit standards. Perhaps the dwarven blood extended their lifespan beyond the norm, Bilba wasn't sure. None of Kayli's descendants had yet died of natural causes, leading many in the Shire to believe her blood cursed.

Belladonna had been the only one brave enough to disregard superstition and visit, after her mother had tried so hard so distance herself from the old dwarf before marrying the Old Took. Belladonna's death seemed to only encourage the other hobbit's whispers.

Heartbreak, blood, and vanishing: that was Bilba's legacy. The folk in Hobbiton would probably break open her will the moment her departure on this mad quest was discovered.

She shook her head smartly to derail her train of thought. "I'm past fifty, quite a respectable age for a hobbit."

"Really?" Kili looked delighted. "Well I'm past seventy, so there!" He stuck his tongue out at her."

"It's like you don't want me to help you," Bilba said dryly.

"Oh please don't change your mind!"

She shooed him away. "I won't! Now scat, before you are missed."

Rufus remained as her pocket companion until the dwarves left Rivendell. In that time, Bilba decided that while the creature was not conventionally appealing, there was something quite cute about it's wrinkled appearance. She was almost, almost mind you, reluctant to return him to Kili when the journey resumed.

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A/N:

Finally those elvin word translations have context.

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Review Replies

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To: LXS

Yes, Billa needs a hug. I'm trying to convey that the reason she went on the quest was because she thinks her grandmother would want her to. It is her way of mourning her death. So, yes, lots of hugs needed.

The gems have context, sort of. First, they show how rich Bilba is to everyone who is not a hobbit. She's got piles of diamonds and rubies in her house, and doesn't find much value in them besides how shiny they are. To the dwarves, however, she appears like some kind of baroness, with her braids, riches, relation to the Shire's ruler, and land. She has no idea about this though. Second, they show off her grandmother's ability to find treasure on a whim.

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To: Dreams2Paper11

Yeah, I get what you mean about Kayli not sounding dwarvish. I wanted something that did not sound too foreign to the reader, and didn't want it to sound too pretentious. Is there like a dwarf name creation site or something?

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Dwarvish translations

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amadel - mother of all mothers. Closest word I could find to grandmother.

khajimel- gift of all gifts. I use it as an endearment, like when people say a child is a 'gift from above.'

urjukhudh - color. Here I'm using it to mean something like luster.

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Elvish Translations

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kalina - light

taurn - high

n'taurn - low

taurn kalina - high light, aka: ultraviolet, ect. I made up this concept based on science.

n'taurn kalina - low light, aka: red light spectrum, radio waves, ect. I made up this concept based on science.


	4. Chapter 4

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The troll incident seemed to loosen the company's tongues, and once they left Rivendell, Bilba found her quiet hours of embroidery disturbed by long conversations near the fire. Bofur and Nori seemed to make it their personal mission to walk on either side of her as they traveled, and Gloin commented more than once on her workings of gold and silver thread.

"With a skill like that, you could find yourself a fine wire smith to wed," the red bearded dwarf said matter of factly.

"No, she wants a jeweler, what with all the uncut gems in her hall!" Bofur grinned, nudging the blushing hobbit at his side. "She's even rich enough to pay a dowry for a master crafter, if the family raised a fuss."

"Oh quiet you," she grumbled, waiving a needle threateningly at him.

"I'm just saying!" Bofur laughed.

Gloin rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you would know, being one yourself."

The dark haired dwarf waived his friend off. "I am a master of many things, but nothing so fine as the settings I've seen this one pull together," here he punched Nori in the shoulder.

Nori, who had just sat down, looked from Bilba's red face to his friend's obnoxious grin. His eyebrow raised. "What did you do to the hobbit?"

The others laughed, and Bilba wondered if she could use this distraction to escape into the woods, away from these meddlesome dwarves. She had enough speculations about her potential suitors from her relatives, thank you very much.

"What are we talking about?" The sound attracted to the fireside Ori and Kili, who had Fili not a step behind. She wanted to burry her face in her embroidery.

Gloin motioned them to a seat. "We were just discussing which skills Miss Baggins would prefer in her potential suitors."

"No, you were," she muttered, but no one heard her.

Kili looked thoughtful. "Hm, I think a smith." The others booed his words. He flushed and scrambled to defend himself. "Some of those gems in her house would make great hilt settings, and besides no one in her homeland seems to wear jewelry much, so everything would have to be sold abroad anyway!"

Fili rolled his eyes and shoved his brother to a seat. "Sit down lover-boy before you hurt yourself."

"I wasn't talking about me!" he whined, face almost as red as Bilba's. His eye strayed to the edge of camp where a brooding figure stood alone.

"I've got a cousin who makes the most excellent kitchen-ware for Dori," Ori added his two cents. "Would Miss Baggins prefer someone like that?"

The dwarves were about to break into another round of debating, when Bilba felt she should kill the topic before it got a second wind.

"While I am sure none of you have anything better to do than contemplate my love life, you should know that it is none of your business."

A shamed silence pricked the edges of the circle, before Kili gave her a light one armed hug. "We didn't mean anything by it Bilba."

She huffed and lightly shoved him away.

By the time they reached the Misty Mountains, Thorin was the only dwarf she had yet to hold any sort of conversation with. The hobbit often found herself absently watching him at the edge of the fire, only to look away when she became aware of her actions. He never seemed to notice, or if he did, had the decency not to take offense.

Then came Goblin Town and the awful creature Gollum, then more Mahal forsaken running for their lives, till they were trapped in a tree. A tall uncomfortable pine tree, which was also on fire.

Dwarfs were built with skin impervious enough to handle cherry hot bars of steel the way others might a twig. The stone and flame coursing through their veins from the days when they were first pulled from the earth could only be truly burnt by dragon's breath. Bilba had inherited much from her grandmother, but dwarven constitution was not among them.

Looking back, Bilba could not tell you why she charged the white orc. Perhaps it was to get out of the flaming tree. Perhaps some dormant matriarchal instinct resented the death of her men, unless she was the one dishing out such a fate. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

What did it matter anyway, they were all relatively alive and resting in relative safety at the skin changer Beorn's house. The hobbit was even prepared to humor the giant man's constant pinching of her cheeks and calling her 'Bunny' as he carried her on his shoulders, if it meant a hot cup of tea.

Then Thorin called her to his side.

"I once said that you had no place on this journey," he was too injured to move from his regal nest of blankets by the fire (club to the ribs will do that, even when your bones are made of granite), but he held her hands tightly in his own. "I have never been so wrong."

She couldn't tare herself from his piercing blue gaze. Her lungs appeared to have stopped working as well.

He inclined his head formally. "Would you accept my gratitude?"

"Yes," she said, firmly, refusing any breathlessness to purveyed her voice.

The dwarf king smiled, and Bilba suddenly realized where Kili had inherited all his charm. His fingers began to twist a braid into her hair, in what Bilba felt was a very forward action on his part. Amadel never said it aloud, but touching another's hair was quite scandalous. He fastened the end with a grey stone bead, before giving her another nod, this time of dismissal.

Dazed, the hobbit returned to the hearth where the company rested, wondering what all that was about.

Across from her, Dwalin sharpened his ax with the serene care of a warrior's chore. That weapon has probably seen more battles than Bilba had cousins. Most of the fights had probably been in the service of the line of Durin.

She noticed a dark bead glinting in his beard; a bead shaped exactly like her own new possession. She fingered the braid in her hair, lining up the pattern with that she saw on the dwarf. Courage... loyalty...honor...

Dwalin's eyes flicked to hers, and she flushed. He smirked gruffly, and nodded to her in a more companionable manner than he ever had before.

Bilba was starting to get an idea what the braid meant. The Thain often gave out medals to brave bounders which received similar looks of admiration she was getting. She let out a sigh, but whether it was one of relief or disappointment, she was not entirely sure.

A life or death situation was not a smart time to engage in romantic pursuits, and journey to slay a dragon and reclaim a lost kingdom most likely constituted as one of those.

If she ignored her infatuation, it would leave. That method worked the last time she was faced with a competent authority figure who earned her respect and subsequent affection. Bilba had a weak spot for leaders, be they the captain of the shire's bounders, or a king.

Still, as the days dragged on in the comfort of Beorn's home, the hobbit found herself seeking other outlets for her emotion. The patch of flowers where the bees wondered was too inviting not to lace into her hair.

Three anemone hung in the heavy braids behind her ears, and an acacia twined around the braid Thorin had given her. A forget-me-not tucked close next to her mourning braid.

Bilba thought she had been clever to use the hobbit's preferred methods of proclaiming affection. That was, until she was approached by Nori.

"So, who are you pining for, lass?"

"Why, whatever makes you say that!" she squeaked, consciously trying to keep her hands from ripping the flowers from her hair.

The dwarf looked at her flatly. "I may just be the some muscle in the company, but I'm a jeweler by trade. I've been commissioned enough trinkets to know what the plants I'm shaping mean."

"Of course," she grumbled, pressing the heel of her palm into her eyes. He laughed.

Luckily he decided not to bring the subject up again at Beorn's house, though she swore she saw coins passing from hand to hand among the company. The hobbit would have questioned them on their behavior, but Mirkwood was not a place which invited discussions on gambling.

Any thoughts not pertaining to her immediate survival were driven from her mind when the company was, surprise surprise, running for their lives. Bilba was tempted to set fire to those cursed spider's webs for ruining her hair and cloths, but her vengeance had to be put on hold while she, once again, saved her company's collective behinds. Then came all the sneaking around the Woodland Realm to figure out how to free them from their cells.

She really should be getting paid extra for going beyond the duty of her contract. Perhaps Bilba should approach Balin with the idea later. It was amazing what productive thoughts a girl could ponder while hiding in a wine cellar.

A brace of empty barrels dropped into the river below. The hobbit smirked; productive ideas indeed.

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squarepancake

Yes, I'm implying that Kayli might have been related in some way to Kili/Fili's father. He was the family her son who vanished tried to find.

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	5. Chapter 5

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Bilba didn't recall much of their escape once she had gotten the dwarves into the river, nor could she easily remember their stay in Laketown through the fuzzy haze which settled in her head. Amadel always joked that Bilba had too much fire in her spirit, which was why head colds set in so easily after even a brief dunk in the water.

Never one to let illness get her down, Bilba snuggled by the hearth and tried to shove the sickness from her bones through sheer stubbornness. That never worked as well as she hoped, but she still was on her feet with nary a cough by the time the company headed to the Lonely Mountain.

The less said about that place the better, at least until the hobbit's heart stopped racing.

Presently she sat near the door of the treasury watching while the dwarves sorted through bits and ends of gold encrusted parafinellia. She had been tempted to join them, but worry overshadowed any dwarvish tendencies she possessed. Hobbits, after all, were primarily concerned with where their next meal was coming from and whether or not a giant fire breathing lizard would be knocking on the door for tea. Even the Arkenstone, safely tucked in her bedroll, lost some of its luster to fear.

There was one piece she allowed herself to admire though. Bilba ran her fingers over the smooth cuff of her silvery chain mail. A light blush crept over her cheeks as she relived the moment when the newly crowned King Under the Mountain had given it to her.

She wondered if Thorin's new position contributed to the others' frantic searching through treasure. Was it not customary to give some sort of welcoming gift to kings? Perhaps it was like a birthday party, only where the guests gave out presents. That pursuit certainly sounded like a nice distraction from worrying about a dragon and starvation.

Bilba plucked at the mithril shirt. If it was worth as much as Thorin said, surely it would make a proper gift to give the reinstated king and heirs of the Lonely Mountain. The cost shouldn't be more than her one fourteenth of Erebor's wealth, so surely the dwarves wouldn't mind.

She nibbled on the shirt sleeve, noting how the metal glinted like diamonds against her tongue. Her skill would never compare to her amadel's, but given enough familiarity with a material, Bilba could semi-accurately find purified metals if they were nearby.

She had picked up this trick from her mother, who, before he father's illness, would regale her daughter with tales of how no matter where the hobbit wondered, she could always find her Rohan sword by the coppery taste it left on the back of her tongue. Kayli never shared dwarven secrets lightly, and Bilba suspected Belladonna never knew what a gift she possessed.

Breathing deeply through her mouth, the hobbit cast about the mountain. Sorting through the heaping cold tangs of gold to find the subtler, less numerous tastes of mithril took longer than she would have liked, but after three days of determined walking she found her prize.

The skeins of unfinished chain mail lay folded dustily in the back room of a burnt out workshop located in what once had been the lower levels of the craftsmen guilds. The shop's owner, judging by the lack of mithril anywhere else in the mountain, was probably the only crafter skilled enough to work with the material. Shadows edged Bilba's thoughts at the reminder of the dragon's destruction. She hoped her quick prayer would be enough payment for her theft.

The suits were unfinished, but by comparing the scattered pieces on the table to her own gift, Bilba felt that she could stitch together something presentable. More rummaging around the block produced a spool of thick silver wire only mildly tarnished with time and neglect.

'Just like knitting a sweater,' she thought, as she laced the links together with flowery loops of silver.

The end result held only a passing resemblance to the skill of her own mithril garment, but would hold together until a true craftsman could see to it. Or so Bilba assured herself.

One had no sleeves, and the sides were held together with Bilba's tender stitches. The second was fine, till it stopped a bit below the sternum and Bilba's knitting brought it to a proper length. The third was more of a conglomerate with silver weaving past the elbows and filling in along the collar. Pinned to each was a scrap of paper naming which dwarf the gift was intended, so Bilba could keep the sizes straight. Thorin was much broader in the chest than the boys and Kili was taller than Fili.

The hobbit held up her final project and scowled. Maybe she should think of another gift. She hid the glittering masses under her bedroll and thought no more of them. The bundles clinked against the gem also residing there.

"Oh dear," Bilba sighed. Her worries, held back by trivial pursuits, came crowding back around her pointed ears. What ever was she going to do?

Looking back, Bilba would have been able to come up with several better options than the one she chose. Options which would probably not have left her hanging from the battlements of Erebor by her throat and banished. Obviously she didn't choose any of those, because she was currently sitting in a tent somewhere in the elven king's camp, and not inside of the mountain with her former friends.

Rubbing her eyes furiously, the hobbit swore to not shed any more tears over a man, and get herself situated. There was a war on, after all.

Slapping her cheeks, she got to her feet and took stock of her remaining belongings. She had her sword and chain mail, as well as her sleeping mat and bag.

Something wriggled within the worn fabric of her pack, prompting her to squeak and throw it reflexively across the tent. A round pink object bounced to the floor along with a shower of odds and ends.

"Rufus!" she laughed crossing the space to crouch by the pink ball, "What are you doing inside of my pack?"

The naked mole rat squeaked and cuddled against the warmth of her palms.

"Hasn't Kili been looking after you properly?" A dark thought clouded her momentary mirth, as she held the pet to her chest. "No, I suppose he would have been distracted with his uncle."

The rat grumbled something unintelligible, which Bilba took to mean his agreement.

"I'll get you back to him soon once this is all sorted out," she said with a fond pat. "Somehow." She laughed again, more sadly this time, and tucked Rufus into her coat pocket with a bit of carrot from her dinner.

The rat squeaked and rustled. Confused she gently retrieved him from her pocket.

"No! The Ring is not a chew toy! Bad Rufus!" She tugged the gold band from the rodent's mouth sharply. He grumbled something unpleasant and seemed to shake a fist angrily at the ring, before diving back into her pocket.

Bilba sighed and got a bit of thread and wire to tie the trinket around her neck.

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Review Reply:

LXS:

Crushing on the Captain of the Bounders? Can't fault her type- leadership, apparently. And of course the conversational icebreaker is her love life; to be fair, it's more of a complimentary skills debate than anything (married and sharing an 'office' would produce the best work or the worst arguments. Likely both and at the same time!)

Author: Yes, dwarves are very business minded for everything. I gave Bilba a 'type' to crush on to explain her infatuation with Thorin. She's predisposed to like a guy in leadership roles. Thanks for the review!

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	6. Chapter 6

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A blow to the head can ruin your whole day, though when your day consisted of running invisible around a battlefield, ruining is a sort of relative term. At least she was alive and un-trampled, so thank goodness for small mercies.

Sometimes she wished her small mercies would extend to the people she cared about.

A man had found her on Raven Hill and escorted her to where the people of Laketown were camped. There she learned of the battle's outcome (eagles, always the damn eagles) and the recent management change in the Lonely Mountain.

"Apparently Oakenshield was cut down in the battle, because his cousin Dain has been handling all the negotiations," the man had said.

"What about his nephews? His heirs Filli and Killi? What about them?" Bilba had asked, trying to comfort a distressed Rufus in her pocket.

The man shrugged. "Fell with him I suppose. Lord Bard said he saw them in one of the medical tents looking pretty bloody. If they were in any shape to stand, they would be the ones in charge, wouldn't they?"

"But they were so young," she wanted to say, but the words got stuck in her throat.

She stayed in the camp just long enough to get her wounds bandaged and some rest, before she started asking about how she was to find her way home. She was banished from the dwarven kingdom after all, and didn't want more trouble heaped upon her, despite how she might wish to contact her remaining company members.

A contingent of elves offered to take her through Mirkwood on their way home. Apparently some negotiations were underway with the dwarves and the elf king wished to return to his kingdom and reassure his subjects before they began. Bilba could appreciate his wish to burry the dead.

During the journey she acquainted herself with the frosty elf king, and gave him a gaudy diamond necklace by way of apology for her sneaking around his dungeons for all those weeks. The necklace was the very piece of treasure she had taken from Smaug's hoard, which initially aroused the dragon's rage. It had sat in the bottom of her pack ever since.

Thranduil gained an odd expression on his face as he examined her offering.

"I would not take all you have, my lady."

Bilba shrugged. "No please, it's the least I can do."

His face cracked into an almost there smile. "Then I name you elf friend, and pray that you stay for a while as a guest in my home."

"I would simply like to return home, if it's all the same to you, sire," the hobbit sighed.

He nodded. "Then I will not see you come to harm on your journey. Please, accept my guard as an escort for as long as you may."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly!" she blustered, but the king's amused expression broke no argument.

The stately contingent followed her all the way to Beorn's house, where she managed to talk them into going home.

"I plan to spend some time here," she reassured the elves. "Go back to your king, with my thanks."

True to her word, the hobbit did stay for quite some time with Beorn and his animals. Eventually Gandalf showed up, having learned her location from the elves, and the two of them made their way back to the Shire.

There Bilba took one look at Bag End and exploded. Her sword was in her hand faster than you could say 'gem'.

"What are you doing in my house!" Bilba roared, leaping from the back of her pony into the midst of what appeared to be an auction.

"Miss Ba-ba-ba-Baggins!" squeaked the presiding sales person. "We thought you were da-da-dead!"

"And who told you that, eh?" She turned to the crowd, fire flashing in her eyes as she brandished her sword. "Look here you lot, I'm happily among the living, and if you return my possessions where you stole them from me in this unsanctioned auction, you might all remain happily here with me!" She glared at the auctioneer. "Do we understand each other?"

There was practically a flurry of movement as the hobbits turned tail to flee like lemmings. Most dropped whatever items they had purchased right there on the lawn, not even bothering to get a refund as they ran from that Mad Miss Baggins. Those that didn't (Cough Sackville-Baggins Cough) were soon to expect a house call from the enraged part-darrow lass.

Eventually Bag End was put back into order with everything in its proper place, save the silver teaspoons which Bilba could never prove were stolen.

The red granite smial stood empty at the edge of the Shire. A maid was paid to dust the place out twice a month, but Bilba herself avoided it after she moved the last box of her grandmother's belongings into the basement of her house in Hobbiton. She had not touched any of those since moving them into storage.

Her hair hung loose just above her shoulders in a proper hobbit cut, save for a spot at her temple where the hair was sheered short. The braid which once rested there now lay at a stone cut grave beside a shroud embroidered with a tale of dragons and diamonds and adventure. Any other adornments were carefully placed in the chest at the foot of her bed to be forgotten.

But now, in a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty dirty hole, or a hall of stone; this was a hobbit hole, and that meant comfort and peace.

Bilba sat on the bench near her mailbox, a teapot balanced on a tray at her side. A small pink rat nibbled contentedly on a bit of radish in her lap. The hobbit patted his head wistfully.

"I guess it's just you and me now Rufus," she sighed, leaning over her cup of tea.

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Dwarvish translations

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amadel - mother of all mothers. Closest word I could find to grandmother.

khajimel- gift of all gifts. I use it as an endearment, like when people say a child is a 'gift from above.'

urjukhudh - color. Here I'm using it to mean something like luster.

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Elvish Translations

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kalina - light

taurn - high

n'taurn - low

taurn kalina - high light, aka: ultraviolet, ect. I made up this concept based on science.

n'taurn kalina - low light, aka: red light spectrum, radio waves, ect. I made up this concept based on science.

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A/N

This fic idea came about when I read a line in the fic "Before the War- The Ring" where Merry comments on his having 5 o'clock shadow because of some Stoor's blood in his family. My initial thought of "wtf is a Stoor and why, if they are a species of hobbit, would they have beards" somehow morphed into the Stoor family being of dwarven descent (because dwarfs have beards), and then this fic happened.

The thing about dwarves being essentially colorblind is an idea I've been playing around with. Evolutionarily it makes sense. Why wold you need to see color in a dark tunnel? Mostly the idea came from me wondering why they liked shiny things so much... their attraction would make sense if dwarfs literally could not see brilliance anywhere but in gems and metal. I've got a friend who never developed cones on his retina to see color, and hearing him describe stained windows and glass when he is unable to see anything except shades of grey is interesting.

The idea of elves being able to see colors past the spectrum of human eyes makes similar sense. Why shouldn't they be able to see ultraviolet light or radio waves or some sort? Type in 'ultraviolet flower pictures' into google to see the hidden patterns of flowers. The science is quite cool.

My head cannon is that dwarves have star nosed moles, naked mole rats, ground owls, and other underground animals as cute adorable pets. Yes, I am making a Kim Possible reference.

Also my head cannon: Dwarves are essentially fire proof, because they were made of fire and stone when the middle earth was created. Evidence: In the hobbit no one gets burned while handeling/ skiing down molten gold in the forge scene. In the appendix, it says Morgoth made dragons out of stone and fire, because he could never corrupt dwarfs and believed that something made out of the same material as them would be perfect to combat them.

Also, Bilba ages much slower than a normal hobbit. No one in her dwarven family relations have ever died of natural causes (ie: old age). This prompted many in the shire to believe Kayli's descendents to be cursed. If one of the dwobbits was able to reach a ripe old age, it would be closer to 200 yrs, rather than the normal 100 yrs of a regular hobbit. The Numinor men only had one elf in the family, and several hundred generations later Aragon still is in his prime at 87 in LotR. Therefore, even though Bilba is about three generations removed from Kayli, she is still looks biologically quite young. At 60-ish years (her age in the Hobbit) she might be considered mature for a hobbit, but she is not yet an adult in dwarf standards. She is closer to Fili and Kili's age, despite her mature air.

Valandhir's Raven's Blade series explores this concept wonderfully, and is just full of all kinds of awesome anyway. You should go read it. Seriously, I'm surprised it's not as well known on ffn. The story is written so intricately and with such gravitas, that I want it made into a real hard copy book I can put at my bedside. I also now support the epic (for it is truly epic) bromance of Killi and Boromir, just sayin'.

...So anyone who knows the head-butting story from the LotR outtakes (see youtube LotR outtakes part 1) will understand why my new head cannon has Aragon/ Viggo as a total troll who likes to mess with Orlando Bloom's 'perfect elven complexion'. The fact that they managed to work it into the Hobbit makes me smile. "The white light!"

Also, this is mix of cannon book/movie plot stuff, because Tauriel shouldn't exist as a romantic plot point. She don't need no man to be bad-ass.

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